


Here I Am

by catmanu



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Croatian National Football Team, Fluff, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Phone Sex, is it a new year if my first fic of the year isn't a sejan?, obligatory rockfilius mention, written way too slowly whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:00:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28535526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catmanu/pseuds/catmanu
Summary: Šime scores a goal in his first game since March.Dejan is still buzzing from Zenit's victory over Spartak earlier in the day, but he'll always have time for his Šime.
Relationships: Dejan Lovren/Šime Vrsaljko
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	Here I Am

**Author's Note:**

> (Or, as Šime would say, Here I'm.)
> 
> (This was on the same day Dejan got a kind of epic own goal for Zenit, which Šime references here.)

Šime likes to change up the way he styles his hair. Sometimes it's long and messy and Dejan can't figure out the last time he's brushed it and it feels so good to weave his fingers through when they're lying together talking. Or when they're waking up slowly, their skin warm and clammy as they lie curled up with each other in the mornings. Or when Šime is on all fours, his face buried in a pillow that can't really hide his grunts and sighs, and--

Since returning to training with Atletico Šime's hair is a little neater, fluffy and curly, and fuck, does it make him look responsible. In charge. Like a fucking master.

And it fits, because of what he's just done tonight.

"Šime," Dejan sighs, his voice hoarse from screaming on the pitch and in the locker room and on the team bus surrounded by cheers and red smoke. "My heart nearly stopped when I got the notifications. You almost killed me, did you know that?"

"Your own goal against Spartak almost killed _me._ From embarrassment."

"Fuck off," Dejan says, grinning. Šime smiles, too. "You're so beautiful when you smile, dragi. I could never get tired of it."

"Mmmm..." Šime breathes, and suddenly the camera angle changes so that all Dejan can see are Šime's legs, his talented legs, his brilliant goal-scoring legs, stretched out in front of him. His sweatpants are pulled just low enough so that Dejan can tell he's wearing one of his pairs of Rock Filius boxer briefs. Dejan's hand takes over. It flies down to his dick, palming it through his own sweatpants. It's fucking _cold_ in St. Petersburg--around 0 degrees. He misses Croatian weather, hell, he misses Liverpool weather, even though he doesn't miss the bench. And he misses his Šime. Šime would keep him warm.

"Excuse me," he says. "My eyes are up here, ljubavi."

Šime flips the camera back around and oh, his eyes. His beautiful fucking eyes are swimming with want. Dejan swallows. How often this year has he found himself wanting to smash his fist through the screen and grab those curls and pull hard, endlessly hard? As hard as he wanted because Šime would want it that way, too?

Šime wets his lips. "Dragi...where's your hand?"

"You know where." Šime's tongue darts out again, running over his bottom lip. "Thinking about my cock in your mouth, my Šime?"

"Mmmmh," Šime says, nodding fast, and Dejan gives himself a squeeze. "I want it, Deki. I want it in my mouth...so far down my throat I think I might die."

"Fucking dramatic."

"Thanks, Deki."

“You--You _scored_ today, dragi. You never do." Dejan has a fist fully wrapped around his cock now, jerking himself off over his sweatpants. "Šime, ljubavi. I would eat your ass from now until morning if I was there.”

" _Deki..._ " And Šime winks. "Aj lajk _a lot._ "

"Please, my Šime, please." Dejan is so full of love that he's begging in his hoarse, victory-ruined voice. Not one other person could make him beg like this. Only Šime, no one but his Šime. "Tell me how we can celebrate you."

Šime's beautiful eyes widen and he looks off to the side, thinking.

"Hurry up, dragi," Dejan says. "I'm going to come in my pants if you don't give me directions and I've had enough fucking embarrassment for today."

“Show me you, Deki,” Šime breathes. "Show me you, ljubavi."

Dejan switches away from his front camera, showing Šime his hand on his bulge.

"Lazy ass, I meant take off your fucking clothes."

There's just a hint of sharp urgency in Šime's voice but it's enough to give Dejan a clue about where this is heading. He tosses his phone onto the bed and pulls off his white tshirt, kicks off his sweatpants and black Rock Filius underwear. His cock, no longer trapped under his clothes, is heavy, starting to arch toward his stomach.

"Nice," Šime breathes. "Your abs...so nice...My Deki. Mine."

"Now what?"

"Get your fingers wet."

"How many, dragi?"

Šime's eyes are so bright. "Start with two."

Dejan can't remember the last time he's fingered his own ass. But that's alright--so it'll just feel like the first time. He'll do _anything_ for his beautiful Šime--he's fucking magic, that's what he is, he's magic and a goal scorer and-- _fuck,_ okay, it hurts a little when he slides two fingers inside himself, but Dejan Lovren has never been afraid of pain.

"Now, fuck yourself, Deki," Šime says. "But pretend it's me."

Dejan's hand shakes as he tries to hold his phone steady, showing Šime his fingers sliding in, sliding out, sliding in, sliding out. His cock twitches from imagining Šime and the way his eyes squint while fucking and and the way his hair grows about ten times sloppier all on its own. "Šime. Šime..." he sighs. "Ljubavi..."

He's looking into Šime's eyes, but suddenly Šime has switched the view again so that Dejan is staring right at Šime's crotch. His fire-knuckled fingers wrap around his waistband and shove it down and there are his Rock Filius boxer briefs, the light grey pair Dejan sent him a while back, with a delicious-looking bulge in them. He's not completely hard, yet, but he will be.

"Nice view but Šime--dragi--I want to see you--"

"No, Deki..." Šime says. " _I_ want you to watch what you do to me, watch it happen."

Dejan's fingertips finally brush his prostate and he curses, his hips jerking. It's _been_ a while.

"Mmm, that's it, Deki. That's it..." Šime purrs. "Feels good?"

"Yeah..."

"Thinking of me?"

As soon as he lets himself imagine it's Šime hot and hard inside him, Šime's balls slapping his skin, this stops feeling strange and unfamiliar. "Šime, dragi. Who else would I be thinking about?"

"Oh, I don't know. I could make a list."

"Fuck off. Only you, ljubavi. Only you...Šime..."

"Another finger, Deki," Šime says quietly, and Dejan works another finger into himself, thrusting his dick into the cool air as the stretch adds to his imagination. "Look, look at me..."

The wet spot on Šime's boxer briefs is small, but it's there.

"You look so beautiful stretching yourself like that," Šime purrs again. "I wish I was there..."

"To fuck me?"

"No, no...to watch...to watch you fuck _yourself..._ "

Šime's wet spot is growing. Dejan imagines touching it, massaging Šime's bulge till he's rocking and moaning in Dejan's arms, till he can't control himself. But then his fingers become Šime's cock again, the way it pulses, the way it has no mercy on him (and he wouldn't _want_ it to) when Šime starts his fast pace.

"That's good, ljubavi...you like this..."

Šime is really making a mess. If Dejan were there with Šime in person he'd be tempted to steal the grey boxer briefs. Nothing wrong with a souvenir, right? Šime's fingers and their beautiful flames glide gently over his tip, barely touching it, but a delicious shiver runs through his thin legs all the same. Dejan loves those legs. He wants to lick them, kiss them, bite them, wrap them around him. "Oh, Šime," he says. "My Šime, my Šime."

Šime is still very gently playing with himself. "Yes, my Deki?"

"I would do anything for you..." He flexes his fingers just a little bit to stretch himself more. He should do this more often. It feels fucking _good._ But maybe that's because of Šime.

"I feel like I already knew that, but I don't mind hearing it again."

Dejan feels like he's about to lose control. "I'm close, dragi..." he gasps.

"Deeper," Šime says. "Go deeper, Deki. As deep as you can..."

When Dejan changes the angle of his fingers he can't last any longer. Šime moans watching him fuck himself harder, deeper, and then Dejan comes hot and untouched on his stomach, shivering, twitching. He calls out Šime's name. Doing this just makes him hump the air harder, memories of Šime flashing through his mind. Šime, Šime, only his Šime...

"Have you said my name enough times, ljubavi?" Šime's face is in view again. He's teasing Dejan, sure, but his eyes are so dark, and Dejan can tell from the way he's breathing that he's close himself, very close.

"Fuck off," Dejan pants.

"Is this when I should say _make me?_ "

Dejan runs a finger through the streaks of come on his stomach and tastes it. "There, that shut you up."

"I'm going to go now," Šime says. "And, you know. Take care of some things."

"Can I see?"

"Maybe." Even though Šime so clearly _wants_ him, his smile is still soft. And it makes Dejan's smile soft.

"I love you, dragi. My champion. I always knew you could--"

Šime smirks. "Tell me later. I have _things_ to take care of."

Dejan sticks out his tongue.

"I love you, my Deki."

Only two minutes _at most_ pass before Dejan's phone vibrates. There's a photo of Šime in his grey briefs with a much smaller bulge and a _huge_ wet spot on them. That's his Šime. He loves being touched _through_ things, touching himself through things. And fuck, does it work for him.

Dejan holds his phone to his lips and kisses the photo, imagining running his tongue over the wet spot, tasting it. It _hurts,_ how long they've been apart by this point. And it's cold. It's fucking _cold_ here in Russia. But now he has Šime's goal to keep him warm. He heads to Instagram to find a video of it. Yes, he might never be cold again now that the whole world knows what a champion his Šime is. 


End file.
